by Violet Paige
“What are you doing to me?” I whispered.
“Making sure you know who you belong to.” His fingers withdrew and I gulped for air. I kicked the jeans off my ankles, and stepped away from the door, turning to face him.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, drawing his lips to me. He was so much taller that I stood on the tips of my toes to press my point. “I might belong to you, but do you belong to me?”
His eyes closed and I could feel the hardness of his shaft press against my leg through his jeans. He wanted me as badly as I wanted him. But that didn’t answer my question. Physically, we always wanted each other. But I knew that it couldn’t keep going like this for me anymore.
“Because that’s the only way, Wes.”
I didn’t intend to have a relationship conversation. Not after only a few days. Not half naked. And not while I was ready to come. But at some point, my body had to let my brain have a say in this. And the deal was I would give myself to this man. I’d be his whore. I’d be dirty. I’d suck him, kiss him, please him. But only if he belonged to me too.
“Are you giving me an ultimatum?” He pulled back to study my eyes.
I shook my head. “No, I wouldn’t. I’m offering myself in return for you. I can’t be like this with you if you’re like this with other women. I swear I’m not trying to pressure you. I’m not like that. I-I just can’t think of leaving you and then you’re with someone else.” My words trailed off.
It was a stab to the heart picturing Wes kissing one of his super models. Or taking her to bed and whispering in her ear the same things he said to me. It made my stomach turn. I’d rather walk away than know I wasn’t the only one. I couldn’t share what we had.
“It’s never been like this with other women,” he whispered, dipping to kiss my throat.
“Then tell me, too,” I urged. “You belong to me.” I knew I was risking everything. If he said no, I’d have to walk out this door, and I wouldn’t be coming back. All of it would be over. I’d start living life again like the girl I was before Wes touched me.
His fingers slid between my legs again and I groaned. He fell to his knees and I almost stepped back. I almost told him his seduction wouldn’t work. I needed words. I needed promises. But his fingers felt so good, he held me in place, playing my folds with electric strokes. My hands ran through his brown hair. I needed him to steady me. He was knocking me off my axis again—like he always did.
He looked up at me. “You fucking own me, Doc. I’m yours. Now stop talking so I can make you come.”
His tongue plunged between my legs and I rocked forward, feeling the bliss wash over me. Wes Blakefield was mine. And he had the most perfect way of showing it.
15
Wes
I looked at the physical therapist expectantly. “So, what do you think?”
“I’d say it’s a miracle. I’ve never had a player recover from surgery so quickly.” He looked at my right hand in awe.
I balled it into a fist and wiggled each finger.
I grabbed a football from a basket in the corner and spun it in my hand. “Catch,” I called as I tossed it to him.
He bobbled the catch, but laughed. “You had surgery two and a half weeks ago?”
I nodded. I didn’t want to draw attention to the timeline. The rapid recovery would sound better if it weren’t so damn rapid. But it was what I needed. I had three days until the next game, and I needed medical clearance and my starting spot back.
“So you ready to sign off on me?” I looked at him.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll sign off. But the AFA needs your doctor’s signature too.”
“I know. Dr. Evans. I’ll get it by today.” The old man would want a few signed autographs for the family and maybe a few tickets to the game. But he would sign. My hand was practically back to a hundred percent. There was no reason to keep me out of the game.
“Keep up with those exercises I showed you.”
“No problem.” I had been keeping up with my running regimen and doing double duty on the physical therapy. I had pushed myself beyond the physical limits I had been told, but I proved them all wrong. My hand was ready for touchdown passes and spirals that would wow the crowd.
I slung my bag over my shoulder. “Thanks,” I called out.
Once I got Dr. Evans’s signature, I could get back to practice, and Cosech could sit his ass on the bench where it belonged. The hospital was my next stop.
I tapped on the nurses’ station. “Hey, there.” I grinned.
The nurse behind the counter looked flustered when she recognized me. “Oh my God. Wes Blakefield.”
“Yep.” I leaned my elbows on the surface.
“Are you here to see Dr. Ashworth?” She raised her eyebrows with a knowing look. Lennon and I had made it in the headlines. According to the press, we were practically engaged. Amazing what dating the same woman for two weeks could do for the gossip reporters. They acted like I was a tamed lion. Hardly.
“Not this time. I need to see Dr. Evans about my paperwork.” Although I wouldn’t leave the hospital without seeing if Lennon was available. I knew she was in surgery most of the day.
“Of course. He is your doctor.” She typed something into the computer. “Looks like he’s in between patients. I’ll page him.”
I waited at the desk. A few seconds later, the white-haired man popped out of a lounge.
“There’s our quarterback!” He beamed.
“Yep. And I brought you a few things.” I held up a pair of tickets to Sunday’s game and a signed jersey. Just wanted to thank you.”
“That’s not…” He took the gifts. “Tickets? My wife will be pleased with me.” He laughed. “I hear you need some kind of paperwork for the AFA.”
“Yes. If you could sign off on that last set of documents, I’ll be waving to you from the field Sunday.”
He scratched the back of his head. “Maybe we should find an exam room.” He looked at the nurse.
“Oh, you can go in three.” She pointed.
I followed the man and waited to show him my miraculous recovery.
“Let’s take a look here.” He peered at my hand. “Can you make a fist?”
I did as he asked.
“Can you tap each finger to the center of my palm?”
I followed the next instruction.
He turned my hand over. “Any pain?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, I have to say, Dr. Ashworth is an amazing surgeon. I’ve never seen a recovery like this.”
I grinned. “She is pretty amazing.”
He looked at me over the rim of his glasses. “Yes, the hospital rumor mill said something about you two being an item.”
“I think your rumor mill is accurate.”
The man nodded. “Thought so. I wondered why she handed you over to me so quickly.” He laughed. “Doesn’t matter. She did the right thing. She has strong ethics and standards. And she is an excellent surgeon.”
I wasn’t used to feeling pride for someone else. But I did. My heart almost burst with it. My little sex vixen was a fucking genius, and everyone around here knew it. I needed to do something for her.
“You’ll sign off for me, won’t you?” I towered over the doctor, but I didn’t think intimidation was necessary this time. I had proven my hand functioned fine. I could play in the Sunday game.
“Not a problem. The AFA and the Wranglers will be happy you’re back.” He handed the freshly inked document to me.
“Thanks. Do you know if Dr. Ashworth is out of surgery?”
He shook his head. “No, she’s probably got another two hours ahead of her, but I’ll tell her you stopped by.”
“That’s okay. I’ll talk to her tonight.”
We had a lot to celebrate. I had my medical clearance. And I owed most of it to the sexiest woman in this hospital.
Lennon walked through the door looking exhausted. I threw a kitchen towel over my shoulder and shoved a glass of wine in her hand.
/>
“Here.” I kissed her on the neck.
“Thanks.” She kicked off her shoes and sat on the couch in her scrubs. “I’m going to drink this and then take a shower.”
I turned my attention to the pot of boiling water on the stove. I could make one dish, and Lennon was getting ready to try it.
“So, I heard you caused quite the commotion at the hospital today.”
“Really?” I poured in a box of pasta and set the timer.
“Were you there for your follow-up physical with Dr. Evans?”
“No, I got my clearance for the AFA.”
She jumped from the couch. “What in the hell are you talking about? It’s not even close to six weeks.”
I rotated my right hand in front of her. “Look, I’m fine. You’re an amazing surgeon. I’m ready to play.”
“Play?” She choked. “You think you’re going to play with that hand? You’re fucking crazy.”
I liked it when she said fuck. Such a dirty word on a pretty, luscious mouth.
“Calm down. My doctor cleared me.”
Her hands were on her hips. I knew that livid look in her eye. “I didn’t clear you.”
“But you’re not my doctor, are you? You handed me off to Dr. Evans and he and my therapist have signed all the paperwork.”
Before I knew what she was doing, she grabbed my right hand. I didn’t flinch. “Let me look at that.”
She twisted it in front of her, drawing imaginary lines with her fingers between the bones. She made a cross over my knuckles and applied pressure at my fingertips.
“And this doesn’t hurt you?”
I shook my head. “Not at all.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What did you do? This is impossible.”
“Do?” I pulled my hand back.
I had made the decision that I wasn’t dragging her into this. As far as she was concerned, she needed to think I was a medical miracle. The kind of man who could heal with the speed of The Flash.
“Yes, what did you do? Best case scenario you had a six to eight week recovery period and then you would start rehab. We talked about it, Wes. This isn’t possible.”
“Well, I’m fine. The hand works great. See?” I waved with all fingers and my thumb. “I’m lucky I had such a kick ass surgeon who could stitch me back together.”
Her lips puckered together. “I don’t buy it. What are you not telling me?”
“Let it go, Lennon.” I stirred the pasta in the pot. I miscalculated this conversation.
She walked around the kitchen island. “I can’t. I know you took something. You did something. Who helped you? Where did you get it?”
I shook my head. “Stop. Stop.”
“How could you do this? How could you jeopardize your career like this? Your health? Do you even know what you took? The side effects?”
“It’s none of your damn business. You’re not my doctor, you made sure of that.”
“Yeah, because you wanted to date me.” She stormed out of the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
“To take a shower.” She slammed my bedroom door in my face, but I walked in after her.
“Take a breath, and calm the fuck down.” It was the wrong thing to say. I knew it when she pivoted toward me, blue eyes blazing.
“I’m trying to get some space. I’m trying to calm down, but you’re following me. I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”
“How about that you’re happy my hand works?”
She scowled. “If the AFA finds out that your medical miracle is really medical intervention, are you still going to have that smug look on your face?”
“It is a medical miracle. I had an excellent surgeon.”
“You’re sticking to that ludicrous story? Really?” She walked into the bathroom, throwing her top on the floor and wiggling out of her pants. She turned on the water.
“It’s what happened. I’m playing Sunday and I want you to be there.”
She opened the glass shower door, closing it so there was a barrier between us.
“I might have to pick up a shift on Sunday.”
I studied her in the shower. Her beautiful skin glistening under the running water. Her breasts dripping. My favorite slice of heaven between her thighs guiding the water down her legs. I licked my lips.
I reached for the handle, but she stopped me. “No. You’re not coming in here.”
“Come on, Doc. Stop being so pissed. I just asked you to sit in my box on Sunday. Aren’t you going to give me an answer?”
“Right now, I am going to wash my day off of me, and that includes your insane idea to pretend that I don’t know the real story behind your recovery. I don’t know if I’m more angry that you did it, or more angry that you’re lying to my face.”
It hit me in the gut. I knew I was a liar. I knew I would cross lines. I crossed them all the time. But to have this woman, who I craved like nothing else, throw it in my face, gave me a jolt of reality. My lies never affected other people, and all of a sudden, I realized they did.
I pressed my palm against the glass. “Enjoy the shower. Dinner will be ready in a few.”
I walked out of the bathroom, fighting every instinct I had. The one to take her the way I wanted. The one to break down and tell her the truth. The one that was in the back of my throat: telling her I didn’t want to disappoint her.
16
Lennon
I’d never scrubbed my skin so hard. What in the hell was he thinking? And why hadn’t I noticed the past week or longer that his hand was healing faster than any natural process? He wore his sling and acted like it bothered him. He tried to throw me off. That might have pissed me off the most.
I cut the hot water and reached for a towel. In a short amount of time, I had basically moved into Wes’s apartment. He had taken one look at my rented extended stay and decided I needed a place with a view, and preferably one with a view of him.
I arrived with an entirely new wardrobe and my own closet. Dating a highly paid quarterback had its advantages. He was a millionaire on top of having a rock hard body and eyes that stirred every impulse under my skin.
And the sex. God, the sex. There was nothing like it. There never had been, and I knew that the day Wes walked out of my life, I’d never have anything like it again. That was the problem. I knew this was temporary. There would be a day when we’d both wake up and realize there was no way we were compatible.
He’d never had a girlfriend before. Why did I think he’d suddenly change now? It was insane to think he wanted commitment and all the things that came with it. I laughed. This was probably the first time he’d had an actual argument with a woman and didn’t kick her out. Ben and I fought. That’s what regular couples did.
We fought about what movie to watch or whose parents were more annoying. We fought about what shifts we should work, and who should buy groceries. But had we ever fought about an ethical and moral issue? Had Ben and I ever fought about something that mattered like this?
I toweled off my hair, slipped on Wes’s jersey and a pair of yoga pants, and trotted off to face him.
I sat on the barstool. He plated a pasta dish and placed it in front of me. “Dinner.”
“Smells good.” I picked up my wine glass. “We have to finish this discussion. You know that, right?”
“I know that I’ve said everything I want to say. And I don’t expect you to keep questioning me.”
I fought back the anger and tried to remind myself he was new at this. “Whatever it is we’re doing here, Wes. This thing between us… it’s not going to include lies. I’m not compromising on that.”
He gripped his fork. “You knew what you were getting into with me. I drink. I gamble. I sleep around. Uh, used to sleep around. I cross lines that have to be crossed so we can win. I do the things that other people don’t want to do.”
“What is it with you and winning? Damn it, Wes. Winning isn’t everything.”
He slammed the
fork on the counter. “Yes it is. You don’t get it. You don’t understand my life, or what it’s taken for me to get here. You live in a happy black and white land where you get to save people and put them back together. It’s my job to tear them down. To trample and stomp. To tackle and defeat. That’s my life. I’ve fought for everything I have. Every victory. Every dollar. Every single damn thing. Everything.”
“Hey, hey. I’m not judging you.” I saw the flames in his eyes. The vein on the side of his neck was throbbing. “Tell me. Just tell me. Explain it. All of it.”
He hunched back in his seat, letting an expansive breath escape his chest. “It’s not a great story. Let’s just let it go. I don’t want to fight with you.”
I pulled his right hand into my lap. Something desperate had made him do what he did. And I knew enough about my connection to him that I wanted to understand it. I wanted to know what would drive a man who had everything to risk it all. Put his health at stake. I still had no idea what he had taken, and that scared me.
I traced the side of his jaw. “No. I’m not letting it go. I care about you. And if we’re doing this, then I’m here for all of it. Not just the sex and the beautiful clothes.” I smiled. “Although, those are nice perks.”
“The truth comes out.”
“It always does.” My thumb rubbed his bottom lip. “You can trust me. Talk to me. I want to know why you have to win.”
“Huh. I think that’s the first time someone has asked me that. Doesn’t everyone want to win? Isn’t an instinct?”
I shook my head. “Not at the risk of everything. There’s something driving you. I see it. I feel it. It’s even with me. You wanted to win me over.”
“And I did.” He winked.
“Yeah, you did. And here we are. So, I’m asking you, where does it come from?”
He closed his eyes. “This is fucking hard.”
My heart pounded. I wanted to pull him to my chest and cradle him and tell him he could trust me with everything. Even if he had done something I thought was completely unethical. But that wasn’t really the problem. Whatever he had done to regenerate his hand wasn’t the core issue. It came from something far deeper. There was something Wes wasn’t telling me.